Chapter Fifty-Four
RHYLAND
“Y ou’re shitting me,” I sighed.
“Rhyland!” Zeta, Dylan’s mother, reproached me from her doorstep, waving a kitchen towel threateningly at me. “Watch that language of yours. I said she is not here, and that is that.”
“Where is she, then?” I asked impatiently.
It was two in the fucking morning, and I was running on no sleep, no food, and no fucks. I wanted to see Dylan. And since I didn’t have a private jet at my disposal, I’d made my way here in the McLaren, breaking approximately every traffic rule known to man.
“She went back to New York to ask you to take her back.” Zeta tugged her robe tighter around her chest.
“I’m not leaving until she—Wait, what?”
“She understood she made a mistake as soon as she started driving to Maine,” Zeta explained with a smile.
“And she never heard of the word U-turn?” I was on the brink of dancing, crying, high-fiving myself, and hugging Zeta. Possibly all at the same time.
Dylan was coming back for me.
Hold your horses, Coltridge. You’re not even there.
“I don’t appreciate your tone, young man. She wanted to spend some time with her mama after what happened with Tucker.”
“You’re right. You’re absolutely right,” I said breathlessly. “I’ll be out of your hair right now. Just let me see Gravity before I leave.”
“She’s asleep.”
“I know. I need my daily fix of inhaling her hair, and I’ll be on my way.” I was such a fucking red flag I was surprised no bull had assassinated me yet. It sounded so creepy and cheesy. “I won’t make a sound. I promise.”
Zeta cursed in Italian, shaking her head and flattening her hand against the door to open it up for me.
“My daughter better marry you, or I will.”